


Secondhand Frustration

by doublejoint



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: Even Midorima can't mess up cake from a mix.
Relationships: Midorima Shintarou/Murasakibara Atsushi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Secondhand Frustration

**Author's Note:**

> please don't eat raw cake batter

“Baking is easy,” Murasakibara says. “You just follow the directions.”

Midorima gives him a very skeptical look. Murasakibara meets his eyes; he won’t back down if Midorima wants a staring contest, especially not when he knows he’s right. Midorima sucks at cooking, but he uses recipes with vague directions and refuses to make adjustments. Murasakibara supposes it’s understandable to some degree, but when you’re doing the same thing over and over and getting the same bad result, you should probably try something else, especially if someone who knows what they’re talking about tells you that you should. Still, Murasakibara hates receiving unsolicited advice; he’s aware of his hypocrisy here, even as it’s overruled by his secondhand frustration and his desire not to see food wasted.

“I always follow directions,” says Midorima.

Murasakibara ignores this, crouching down to break eye contact and open the cupboard to search through it for the box that’s been collecting dust in the back.

“Here.”

He produces the cake mix and holds it out toward Midorima, in its bright packaging with an enlarged photo of an iced layer cake on the front and large-print directions on the back. 

“Cake from a mix?”

“Yeah,” says Murasakibara. “It’s good. Easy to make, too. I have some icing somewhere too.”

Midorima looks skeptical, still. It does kind of feel like cheating to bake it, but it’s a shortcut worth taking in Murasakibara’s opinion, a perfectly good cake especially considering the time and effort it takes, most of which is in frosting it. And everyone has to start somewhere.

“We can do it together if you want.”

“Okay,” says Midorima, doubt still coloring his voice like the neon blue of the cake mix. 

Murasakibara begins to open the cabinets and drawers, in search of what they need--a large cake pan, a bowl and a fork for mixing, flour and butter and vegetable oil, a silicone spatula. Midorima’s watching him, holding the box still, eyes darting back to it every once in a while. 

“Can you get the oven?”

Midorima nods and walks over to it; that much he knows how to do. 

“It says we need three eggs,” Midorima says. 

Murasakibara hums under his breath as he makes his way over to the fridge, planting a kiss on Midorima’s head as he walks by. Midorima muffles a squawk. Three eggs fit into his palm easily; he places them on the counter next to the mixing bowl. Midorima is still looking at the back of the cake box.

“It says to grease and flour the pan.”

He doesn’t move to do it himself, and Murasakibara waits a moment.

“Can you do that please?”

Ah. He doesn’t know what that means, and he doesn’t want to admit it, even to Murasakibara, who has eaten his watery rice, overcooked vegetables, and bland meat. 

“Here,” says Murasakibara, opening the butter dish. 

He grabs the butter stick and begins to drag it over the bottom of the pan, running it up the side. He leaves it after covering about a third.

“Just do that. And sprinkle flour over it.”

Midorima huffs, but does as he’s told (so Murasakibara’s guess was right; he really had had no idea). His sprinkling of flour is much more even than what Murasakibara usually manages.

“Good job,” says Murasakibara, and Midorima flushes slightly, pleased with himself.

He cracks the eggs and mixes the batter himself, holding it up to the light every so often to discern its smoothness and how well it seems to be mixing. Murasakibara wants to tell him that it’s going to take a little longer than thirty seconds, but he’ll let Midorima figure that out. The flicks of his wrist are sharp, and his eye is out for detail, small streaks of egg white or oil unmixed, tiny lumps of mix to separate, scatter into turquoise powder until they’re absorbed. 

“Are you sure this will be edible?”

“Yes,” says Murasakibara. 

“It’s just...a very strange color.”

Murasakibara shrugs. “That’s how it’s supposed to look.”

Midorima keeps mixing. The oven beeps; it’s heated up.

“How does this look?”

It’s pretty smooth, all one texture and color, no lumps, no mix scattered on the side of the bowl.

“Should be ready.”

Midorima pours the cake into the pan, tapping the bottom when the stream of batter slows. Murasakibara grabs the spatula and scrapes the bits that cling to the sides like barnacles away and down into the pan, until there’s so little it’s not really worth it.

“The box says not to eat the batter,” Midorima says, more annoyance than concern in his voice when Murasakibara licks the spatula.

Murasakibara shrugs. “It’s a waste not to.”

“No it’s not--you could get sick.”

“I always lick the spatula. I never get sick.”

Midorima looks like he wants to argue back but can’t think of anything to say; Murasakabara takes the presence of this expression as a signifier of his victory. He drops the bowl in the sink and turns on the tap. 

“It’s your turn to do the dishes since I mixed the cake,” says Midorima. 

“Later,” says Murasakibara. 

He kisses Midorima until he’s sure Midorima can taste the remnants of the cake batter on his mouth, sweet and oddly-textured but good all the same. 

“No, now,” says Midorima. 

He can’t pretend too hard to be too mad right now.

* * *

Midorima continues to maintain that the color makes the cake look unappetizing, but he can’t say that it’s not done enough or doesn’t slide out of the cake pan with minimal effort. He can’t say that it doesn’t look like a cake, even unfrosted. 

“You did it,” Murasakibara says.

“You don’t know that it tastes good yet,” says Midorima. “I could mess up the frosting.”

(That wouldn’t mess up the taste, but Murasakibara doesn’t say it out loud.)

“And we did it, together.”

Murasakibara considers arguing; he hadn’t helped all that much, but Midorima clearly wants him to take credit. 

“Yeah. We did.”

Midorima rewards him with a full smile. 

(The cake does tastes good, exactly as it ought to. Maybe Midorima’s not ready for cake from scratch yet, but he will be soon.)


End file.
